


Expecto Patronum

by coxorangepippin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, HP AU, Herbologist Yuuri, Hogwarts AU, M/M, Magic AU, SO MUCH FLUFF, a tiny hint of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coxorangepippin/pseuds/coxorangepippin
Summary: Three times Yuuri couldn't cast the Patronus charm, and one time he could.A short HP AU.





	1. A Deep Breath

The air in the empty classroom was stale, the scent of disuse and furniture polish heavy in the sunlight that slanted through the high, wide windows, illuminating individual dust motes that swirled like a miniature galaxy. In the distance, young voices chanting a new incantation could be heard, the slightly mispronounced chorus of  _wingardium leviosa_  the only sound in the still atmosphere.

Fourteen year old Yuuri Katsuki stood with his feet planted and his wand outstretched in front of him, pointing at nothing in particular, his living warmth somehow alien in this abandoned space; the walls seemed to sigh at his presence, as though they missed the voices of students, the ink spills and the laughter. Yuuri peered briefly at a half-fallen-apart textbook, its yellowing pages outspread on an old desk at his side, nodded once, and then stared straight ahead of him into the middle distance.

_Breathe deeply, focus on a happy memory._

Yuuri inhaled, trying to keep in his mind the instructions he had read a few moments before. Some dust tickled the back of his throat; Yuuri spluttered for a few moments, eyes watering, and the noise of his coughing broke the sunlit silence of the room, ruining his concentration. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to wrench his thoughts back to the serene state of happiness he was searching for, though he had met with little success so far.

 _Focus on a happy memory_ , he thought,  _and let it fill your mind._

The dust motes glittered at the edge of his vision, and Yuuri found his eyes tracing their slow path through the air, wondering how many of them he had breathed in since he had entered the classroom, how many of their trajectories he had abruptly ended with his selfish need for oxygen. He supposed his inhalation was a catastrophic apocalypse for the small dust mote galaxies, undisturbed as they had been for who knew how long…

 _No! Focus, Yuuri, focus!_ Mentally shaking himself, like a cat in a rain shower, Yuuri shut his eyes, and cut off the rest of the world, the darkness comforting and familiar. He breathed in slowly through his nose, and out through his mouth, the rush of air loud in his ears, searching for inner stillness. A happy memory.

He had plenty of those, surely?

He thought back, casting his mind like a fishing line through fourteen years worth of memories, waiting for something to snag his wandering thoughts. A happy memory.

_Mari and me playing in the sandpit, the day I got my Hogwarts letter, the day I cast my first spell?_

_“Expecto patronum!”_

There was a faint whisp of white smoke, which faded away as quickly as a breath in cold air, dissipating in the still atmosphere of the abandoned classroom. Yuuri huffed in frustration, despite not having really expected to cast the spell; he had come across it in his summer homework, referenced in a Defence Against the Dark Arts essay, and the idea of finding the form of his individual protector had been too tempting to ignore.

Yuuri considered the book in front of him, stained and dog-eared, lying open on the scarred wooden desk. He felt frustration blooming like an ink spill in his mind. A small, moving diagram, endlessly repeating itself on the yellowing page, showed the wand movement and the incantation; Yuuri knew he had done them perfectly.

It was the mental aspects of the spell he was having trouble with. His mind, always buzzing like a furious bee hive, couldn’t stand still for long enough to alight on one memory; doubts, questions, memories of yesterdays rainstorm and what he had had for breakfast, snatches of music and the itching of his left nostril shattered every attempt to fill his mind with the uncomplicated joy of childhood memories.

 _One more try_ , Yuuri thought,  _and if it doesn’t work, then I’ll give up for today_.

Yuuri breathed in again, slowly, feeling the rush of air into his lungs and the slow breath outwards as a calming ritual. He quested through his thoughts again, and with a sudden clarity, remembered last Christmas Day, back home, with Mari and his parents. The lake had frozen over, and he and Mari had donned skates and spent hours twirling on the thick ice, watched and cheered by his parents. It had been as close to a perfect day as Yuuri could remember; he had been free of the perpetual anxiety which wore away at his bones and constricted his breath, had felt only the cold and heard only his sister’s sparkling laughter.

Yuuri tried to remember the wonderful feeling of freedom, of ice gliding beneath his skates in a perfect hiss, the clarity and blueness and joy of the moment, his parents calling his name in encouragement…

“ _Expecto patronum_!”

Yuuri opened his eyes in time to feel a rush of joy, and to see the brief flicker of a shape form in the white cloud that had issued from his wand. Before he could see what it was, it had dissipated on the still air.

 _Well, it’s something_ , thought Yuuri. The happiness of the memory still colouring his thoughts, Yuuri crammed the ancient instructional book into his bag, and set off to a fourth period Charms class.

The classroom door slammed behind him, and the dust motes went back to their celestial dance, no longer disturbed by Yuuri’s presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I tried writing this as a oneshot, and it got away from me. It still won't be very long, but definitely too long to read in one chapter!  
> I mean...is it just me? If I were at Hogwarts (still waiting on my letter), I think finding out what my Patronus was would be pretty near the top of my list of things to do. So I think Yuuri, who is always a little unsure of himself, would be really curious to find out what his innermost self was represented by.  
> Please leave kudos/a comment if you enjoyed reading, and there will be a prize (my undying respect) for anyone who manages to guess Yuuri's patronus before I post the final chapter!  
> (also if anyone noticed anything strange about this work appearing, then disappearing, then reappearing, sorry! AO3 is being very strange this evening!)


	2. Orchideous

Yuuri Katsuki, now eighteen years old and an apprentice Herbologist at the Ministry of Magic, leaned into the wind that was howling through Diagon Alley as though it had a personal disagreement with him. His dark hair blew into his eyes, and he squinted through the light shower that the raging wind had turned into tiny, diamond-hard bullets of water, seeing with relief that the lighted window he was heading for was not much further away.

Stumbling the final few steps, Yuuri heaved open the old green door, and fell into the blissfully dry shop, the bell tinkling in a cheery welcome above his head, in a strange counterpoint to the howling storm outside.

Theodore Ollivander looked up in surprise, clearly taken aback by such a dramatic entrance. Having taken over from his grandfather five years previously, Theodore had reformed the ancient business somewhat, and the front room of Ollivander’s wand shop was no longer dim or mysterious; on the contrary, the deep green walls were now brightly lit by a series of wide glass globes, filled with tiny flickering white lights which floated above Yuuri’s head in cheery constellations, the dust completely banished.

Theodore himself maintained a polite detachment in his approach to customers which was far removed from his grandfather’s eerie, unblinking stare, though he did seem to have inherited the uncanny skill of knowing far more about every client that stepped through his door than he ought to. He was a comparatively young man, no more than forty, but his wands were proving as popular as his grandfathers had been before him, with some experts proclaiming them a touch superior in their handling. This was, other wandmakers speculated (in extremely resentful tones and behind closed doors, where no one could hear their grudging admiration for the ‘young upstart’), due to a more broad-minded approach in selecting core materials; for Theodore Ollivander, no magic animal was too difficult to trace and tame, and therefore no core material was off limits.

“Ah, Mr. Katsuki,” said Theodore, stepping forward from behind the wooden counter, and holding out his pale hands for Yuuri’s coat, which was dripping morosely on to the pale gold carpet. Yuuri shrugged out of the dark wool, handing it over with an apologetic smile for the dark puddle he was now standing in.

“And what can I do for you today?” Theodore asked, his voice professionally disinterested, as he hung the coat on a hook next to the small, crackling fire.

“I need a new wand,” said Yuuri, shivering slightly as the warmth of the fire began to dispel the bone-deep chill that had set in on his journey to Ollivander’s.

Reaching into his pocket, Yuuri pulled out what had been his much-loved, much-used wand, but which was now just two broken pieces of wood. Yuuri smiled, his face slightly embarrassed, and explained “I was trying to make breakfast yesterday morning, but I was still half asleep, and I tripped…”

Theodore’s face was still carefully polite, but Yuuri was sure he saw both disapproval and a hint of amusement in his slightly flared nostrils. Holding out his hand for the remains of Yuuri’s wand, he cursorily examined the two splintered halves (Yuuri thought he saw him mouthing the word ‘ _tripped_ ’ with mild disgust), and moved briskly behind the counter, pulling out several wands from the mountain range of boxes behind him.

“Here are several you may wish to try, Mr Katsuki,” Theodore said, laying out a few wands on the polished, deep brown wood of the counter. “Try them in turn, if you please, and simply place back any that do not feel correct. I will replace the ones you reject as we continue.”

Yuuri obeyed, moving forward across the pale carpet, his shoes padding softly on the thick pile. He picked up the first wand that lay gleaming innocently in the cosy light of the lamps, anticipation pooling in his heart, memories of his first trip to Ollivander’s and the excitement of entering the magical world in his own right at last flitting briefly through his mind.

However, when Yuuri’s fingertips made contact with the pale wood, he felt nothing but a mildly unpleasant buzz, like a static shock. With a slight wrinkling of his nose, Yuuri placed it back down immediately. The second wand was slightly better, but still not right; the third felt as though tweezers had abruptly seized the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger, and Yuuri dropped it with a grimace and a yelp, which Theodore diplomatically pretended not to hear from his position among the endless shelves of boxes.

Theodore watched, and as Yuuri rejected wand after wand, his expression did not change, remaining politely solicitous. The fire continue crackling in the background, and as the sky outside the shop grew darker, the floating lights that looked like severed candle wicks in their glass globes grew brighter, banishing the darkness, making the walls glow a deeper green. The rain continued to lash against the window, and the wind howled a protest at the small shop, a bastion of light and warmth against its fury.

Yuuri was beginning to grow worried, and more than a little uncomfortable. It had been the better part of an hour, and the wands had all rejected him, the least violent giving him a tingling like pins and needles, the most unpleasant vanishing his eyebrows, which Theodore had regrown with a murmured apology and a polite smile.

Theodore did not appear worried, simply replacing wand after wand on the polished counter without a word of complaint or interest.

Yuuri sighed, and picked up yet another wand, long and warm toned, with a single knot near the base. As soon as his skin made contact with the wood, he felt a tingling warmth that ran from his fingers in veins of heat up through his chest. Theodore was watching, examining the flickering of Yuuri’s expression with interest.

Yuuri knew, as he raised the wand above his head, that this was the one. It sang in his hand as though born to be there, the magic in his veins rushing to meet it as though it was an old friend. Yuuri raised his arm above his head, his body warm with the bloom of power, and said the first incantation that came to mind, one of his mother’s favourites; “ _Orchideous_!”

Flowers burst into life from the tip of Yuuri's wand, white roses that hung in the air for a single breath, and then dropped gracefully to the floor. There was a single breath of silence as both Yuuri and Theodore's eyes followed the petals as they fell, and then a faint sound like a summer breeze sighing in the trees; a moment later, hundreds more flowers exploded outwards from the wand tip into the small, brightly lit shop, rushing to cover the walls and floor as though spring had made an early and very localised appearance.

Trailing branches of wisteria draped themselves around the fireplace, and began winding their way up into the rafters, their heavy purple flowers gracefully drooping above Yuuri’s head, brushing against his cheek. Peonies erupted from the floor, their impossibly lush leaves and tightly packed circular buds bursting into bloom as Yuuri watched, spellbound; climbing roses and clematis spun themselves into fantastic shapes around the walls, their deep purple and red flowers glowing in the light of the fire, their perfume filling the air with a heady bouquet of warm sweetness. After a few moments, the growth slowed, and the flowers were left waving slightly in the draft from the chimney, their colours jewel-bright against the dark, rain-lashed windows, a tiny room of summer scents hidden within the teeth of a howling gale.

Yuuri blinked, tried to move, and found that the wisteria had bound his feet in place in a loving embrace of woody tendrils. “Um…Mr Ollivander?” he asked tentatively, unable to see where the proprietor of the shop he had just rendered a small Eden had disappeared to under the mass of foliage.

What Yuuri had taken to be a pillar of clematis flowers coughed, and then murmured ‘ _Evanesco_ ’; the flowers and vines around his body disappeared, revealing a slightly rumpled Theodore Ollivander.

“Well, Mr Katsuki, I think we can safely say that you’ve found your match,” said Theodore dryly, his voice amused and his smile slightly sardonic as he gestured vaguely at the mass of plant-life that still surrounded his feet. “And I thank you for a beautiful display. That will be nine galleons, please.”

Yuuri pulled his feet carefully free from the wisteria, which wilted slightly as he stepped away as though sad he was leaving so soon, and picked his way through the carpet of peonies to the wooden counter. He dug his hand into his pocket, and retrieved the nine galleons, finding a few errant daisies had made their way into the lining of his cloak.

Theodore blew the petals off the cash register, and rung up Yuuri’s purchase, saying as he did so “I think you will be very happy with that wand, Mr Katsuki. It seems to like you very much already, as I think you may have gathered. Fourteen inches, cherry wood, with a unicorn hair core.”

Yuuri smiled, the wisteria flowers hanging from the rafters brushing his dark hair, and pocketed his new wand, feeling warmth still tingling in his fingertips. Theodore reached behind the counter to retrieve Yuuri’s coat, the dark wool now saturated with the scent of summer roses, and as he put it on (avoiding crushing the leaves underfoot) Yuuri became conscious that he had effectively ruined Mr Ollivander’s shop floor, however beautiful the effect.

“Um…shall I…?” Yuuri asked, gesturing around at the effects of his spell.

“No, no, don’t worry,” said Theodore, also looking around at the swaying fronds above his head, “I am quite capable of clearing this up. Besides, I rather appreciate such a display on a day like this, wouldn’t you agree?”

Yuuri smiled, and picked his way through the undergrowth to the door. As he reached for the door handle, Theodore called after him in a mildly reproving tone of voice, “Accidents happen to the best of us, Mr Katsuki, but even so, I would be grateful if you would take better care of this wand. It is an unusual combination, and seems uniquely suited for you; I doubt whether you will find such a match again. So please, do try to pay more attention to where you are walking.”

Yuuri blushed, stammered an agreement, and saw Theodore nod in approval, before brushing some rose petals off the boxes of rejected wands and beginning to levitate them back into their assigned places in the labyrinth of shelves.

Bracing himself against the cold, Yuuri opened the door, and stepped back into the teeth of the gale. The scent of summer roses lingered in his nose as he made his way home through the howling wind.

 

 

It wasn’t until later that night that Yuuri remembered the thing that he had been meaning to try for a few months now.

He was sitting curled into the enormous dark blue cushions that filled the seat of the bay window in his tiny flat, looking out over Diagon Alley; the earlier rainstorm had subsided into a soft drizzle, and the wet surfaces of the street and rooftops reflected the soft gleam of the moon, silvering the dark sky with their borrowed light. Yuuri held his new wand in one hand, and a mug of tea in the other, the steam fogging his glasses slightly as he drank.

He had been attempting to read the latest edition of Sixteen Thousand Uses for Six Magical Herbs, but something else had been nagging at the edge of his consciousness, making it hard for him to concentrate. It had, he realised, been two years since he had attempted the Patronus charm; the last time he had tried, he had almost cried with frustration at his inability to manifest anything more solid than smoke, and Phichit had banned him from attempting it for at least a month. The month had come and gone, and the usual Hogwarts routine had swept any thought of finding his Patronus form from Yuuri’s mind; exams, friends, evenings in the Greenhouses, all of it had conspired to distract him.

But now, Yuuri looked down at the cherry wood wand which had summoned the summer for him when he asked, and wondered if it might be the right time to try again. All the literature on the subject (and he had read all of it, desperate for reassurance that he wasn’t in some way cursed for being unable to summon a guardian) said that some people never got the hang of the charm, and that regardless, it was highly unlikely the average wizard would ever need it. So, Yuuri knew, there was no shame in his failure to achieve a corporeal patronus form.

But Yuuri was intensely curious as to what the manifestation of his soul would look like. Phichit’s leopard patronus, and Leo’s bear, had been so beautiful, so at one with their wizards as they glowed in the firelight of the Ravenclaw common room; Yuuri wanted that bond, that sense of comfort, more than ever now he lived alone for the first time in his life.

Yuuri looked again at the cherry wood wand, and made his decision. He placed his mug on the windowsill, and unfolded himself from the maw of the enormous pile of cushions, which gave way reluctantly as he struggled to free himself. Straightening up, Yuuri stood in the middle of his small living room, his feet on the centre point of his patterned rug, facing the fire.

_Breathe, focus on a happy memory_ , Yuuri thought, and shut his eyes to the flickering of the fire in front of him. The darkness of his closed eyelids seemed to shimmer with a thousand roses, and Yuuri knew which memory he would use.

Focussing his mind on that wondrous rush when he had first picked up his new wand, the supremely joyful meeting of heart and mind and magic, Yuuri let the remembered warmth spread through his veins, and lifted his wand.

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

He opened his eyes, and saw that from the tip of his wand, a shape was trying to form. The dense silver cloud flickered for a few moments, growing and shrinking, and Yuuri thought he caught a glimpse of fur, then feather, then talon, and excitement flooded his stomach; he thought _this is it!_ , and felt his heart beat faster as the shapes shimmered in and out of existence, their forms melting into one another and then, and then…

And then the silver cloud, which had glowed so brightly a few moments before, became the usual whisp of silver smoke, before disappearing in the slight breeze from the open window, melding with the rain-soaked reflections of the moon on the rooftops.

Yuuri, eyes wide and dry and jaw clenched, stood for a few moments in rigid disbelief. _So close_ , he thought with the acrid aftertaste of failure on his tongue, _I was so close…_

He stalked forward and slammed the window shut, the ancient frame crashing down on to the windowsill, shattering the glass. Yuuri considered for a moment whether he should just leave the damn thing broken, but then the moment passed, and he sighed. “ _Reparo_ ,” Yuuri muttered, his new wand effortlessly mending the spider’s web of cracks, shards flying from around his feet to meld seamlessly back into place.

Yuuri glared at the wand for a moment, mentally demanding an explanation for why it achieved every other spell so easily. Sighing again, Yuuri shoved the wand deep into his pocket, and picked up his tea from the windowsill, where it sat still gently steaming.

He padded through the living room to bed, castigating himself for blaming his wand for the failed spell. “It’s a bad wizard as blames his wand,” Yuuri murmured, echoing his father’s favourite saying, and collapsed on to his duvet, letting the bitter sense of failure leech out through his bones into the mattress beneath him.

That night, Yuuri dreamed of cherry trees, and the moon, and a room full of summer in the depths of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos/a comment if you enjoyed reading <3  
> (and if you guess Yuuri's patronus, I will send you good vibes on the hour every hour for an entire day of your choosing).  
> Also, you can find me on tumblr as cox-orange-pippin. Come and say hello!


	3. Snowfire

Yuuri would always remember the day he met Victor Nikiforov.

It was a few months after he had started his mail-order ingredients business, having found the Ministry too confining; Katsuki’s Specialist Herbs and Potions was run from the small front room of his flat, the same one in which he had attempted to cast the Patronus charm six years previously. That had been the last attempt he had ever made. Yuuri had vowed to himself that day that he would never try and master that charm again, as the inevitable failure always left him so low, and he had so far been true to his word, despite the odd pang of temptation.

Yuuri was now twenty four years old, no taller than he had been at eighteen, and was fast becoming a very sought-after source of rare or difficult to acquire potion ingredients. He had come to Russia on a plant-gathering mission, having waited several months for the right season; he had had several requests for the infamously elusive snowfire flower, a tiny herb which grew only on the higher slopes of the Ural Mountains in the dead of winter.

And so, Yuuri found himself in St Petersburg in the middle of December, staying in the tiny wizarding inn to gather his wits and supplies before venturing out into the wilderness. He was sitting by the wide window of his cosy room, wrapped in so many layers of warming-charmed fur that he was almost spherical, and studying the map of the mountains that he would shortly be spending several nights attempting to survive. The Urals were not overly dangerous when one had magic, but Yuuri knew that it was better to over-prepare than get lost and have to apparate back, thereby wasting time and energy.

No one knew exact where the snowfire flower grew, but Yuuri had a few ideas of where to start;  _unfortunately for me_ , he thought as he studied the steep elevations on the map,  _they’re all the highest and most exposed places on the entire mountain. Oh, joy._

Groaning, Yuuri unfolded himself from his nest of blankets, and dressed in almost as many layers of wool and fur cloaks in order to brave the cold outside; he needed to find a few last minute additions to his pack, and something to eat.

When he eventually stepped out into the biting wind (having spent a long time charming every single item he was wearing to repel the wind and the cold), Yuuri set out towards his destination in the centre of the wide, paved square round the corner from the inn, his feet only maintaining their purchase on the icy stone street thanks to a hastily applied sticking charm.

Rounding the corner, Yuuri saw what he was looking for, just as it had been described in all the guidebooks. He cautiously stepped forwards, towards the statue, standing alone and slightly raised on a short podium in the middle of the square, which was full of poorly-concealed wizards and witches (Yuuri noted with a small smile that the inability to dress inconspicuously was clearly not limited to the British wizarding population).

The statue was of an old hag, bent almost double with age, her stone features slightly weathered but nonetheless managing to convey a sense of delighted wickedness; Yuuri could make out the ancient Cyrillic carving beneath her feet, which he slowly mentally translated as ‘Baba Yaga’.

Shuddering slightly at her expression, Yuuri stepped closer, and whispered in slow but clear Russian, “I seek entry!”

The statue turned her grinning, sightless face towards him, and extended a hand, her cold stone fingers uncurling from their claw like position with a grinding sound; she extended her index finger, and beckoned to Yuuri, her leering smile growing wider. Yuuri gulped, tried to fix his mind on the fact that this was  _supposed_  to happen, and reached out to grip her extended hand.

There was a brief moment of blurred sound and light, a displacement of distance, and then Yuuri found himself standing in the middle of a wide paved street, covered in the same thick ice as the city he had just left. Looking around him, Yuuri marvelled at the ease with which he had just been transported nearly five hundred miles; the strange smells, and the unfamiliar cadences of the conversations that drifted through the cold air, told him that he was now undoubtedly in the Russian wizarding centre of Morevna.

In Russia, there was no dilapidated Leaky Cauldron to enter the magical world, no single portal; rather, wherever a statue of Baba Yaga stood, wizards and witches could ask her permission to enter, and find themselves transported there instantly. It was, Yuuri reflected as he peered around at the shop fronts with their beautiful curling writing, a much better system in many ways…

And then Yuuri abruptly changed his mind, when he felt a sudden crushing weight dropping onto his shoulders out of thin air, which sent him sprawling on the hard-packed ice. His glasses flew a few feet away, and Yuuri lay dazed on the cold surface, blinking up at the weak winter sun that barely showed through the thick layer of cloud, his eyesight hazy.

There was a muttered oath, a groan, and then Yuuri heard a deep and musical voice speaking in Russian near his ear. He didn’t respond, just enjoyed the cadences of the unfamiliar language, as he gazed peaceably up at the sky.

There was another muttered oath, and then Yuuri felt himself lifted to his feet surprisingly easily. The musical voice spoke again, seemingly from much nearer this time, asking him in English, “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Yuuri murmured, his mind pleasingly blank after its collision with the ice. “Just fine. Thank you. Where are my glasses?”

There was a moment of silence, the sound of crunching ice, and then Yuuri felt his glasses placed gently on his nose. He swayed slightly, and strong hands gripped his elbows, keeping him upright. The stranger that had apparently attempted to crush him swam into focus a few inches away from his face.

Yuuri blinked. The stranger was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Tall and strong-looking, he had a long straight nose, a high forehead, and a sweep of silver hair which currently had small particles of ice clinging to it from where he had clearly gone sprawling on the floor. His eyes, which were a pale and lovely shade of blue, were focussed with disconcerting intensity on Yuuri’s own, peering at him in concern from a few inches away.

The blissful dazedness from the fall was replaced in Yuuri’s mind by a sudden hot surge of embarrassment. The stranger saw his cheeks reddening, and leaned away a few inches (though he maintained his hold on Yuuri’s elbows).

“Did you hit your head?” the stranger asked, his accent shaping the English words into new and more beautiful shapes, his expression deeply troubled and still focussed with a laser-like intensity on Yuuri’s face. “Are you hurt? Should I take you to the hospital? I’m so sorry for dropping onto you like that, but…”

Yuuri had finally cleared the burning pink fog of embarrassment out of his mind enough to speak, and when he took a breath the stranger stopped speaking immediately and waited.

“I’m…fine? I think?” Yuuri said, his voice breathy. The stranger snorted in disbelief ( _how does he even_ _snort_ _musically?_  Yuuri wondered with no small amount of awe), but let go of his elbows. Yuuri mourned the loss.

“I’m taking you to the apothecary for a check-up,” the stranger announced, placing one hand on Yuuri’s back and guiding him towards a small, dark fronted shop which smelled strongly of burning tea leaves. “By the way, I’m Victor. Victor Nikiforov.”

“Yuuri…Katsuki,” Yuuri replied, feeling the stranger’s hand burning through the approximately three thousand layers of wool and fur that covered his back. He was sure that he had heard the name Nikiforov before, but his unfocussed mind was currently unable to recall where, as the largest part of Yuuri's brain was fixated on the long, strong fingers that were supporting him.

Victor nodded as though Yuuri had just confirmed something he already knew, and guided him through the low, warped front door of the apothecary, into the herb-scented, dimly lit front room. Victor stood him in front of the fire, and called into the dark recesses of the shop, summoning a tiny old woman who looked as though she may have run the shop for several hundred years.

After a rapid stream of Russian, which Yuuri couldn’t translate fast enough to understand, he found himself suddenly eye to eye with the old woman, who summoned a stool and climbed onto it until she stood inches from Yuuri’s nose. Her bright blue eyes, enfolded by a mass of wrinkles, peered at Yuuri as though he were some rare specimen, and then said something in Russian to Victor, who smiled. It didn’t sound flattering, Yuuri thought.

The old woman drew a wand of ancient and heavily knotted wood from her robes, and muttered something. Yuuri looked down at his hands, which had begun to glow with a strange moon-like light, and then suddenly felt a rush of cold air on his skin as the old woman barked a command, and nearly all of his carefully charmed layers flew off to hang themselves neatly on a hat stand, leaving Yuuri wearing only a thin cotton t-shirt and the thermal leggings he had had on underneath his trousers.

The sudden loss of heat was deeply unpleasant, notwithstanding the enormous fire he stood next to, and Yuuri yelped in protest; but the old woman glared at him so forcefully from her position on the stool that Yuuri fell silent.

Now apparently satisfied that she could work without several kilometres of fabric in the way, the apothecary ran her knotted-wood wand up and down Yuuri’s body, not touching him, watching the ripples of light carefully as she did so.

Apparently satisfied, she hopped down off her stool, and barked something to Victor, who looked slightly stunned, Yuuri thought. She motioned impatiently at Yuuri’s clothes, and they flew back to him, arranging themselves obediently around his body in a cocoon of warmth.

Victor stepped forwards, and smiled at Yuuri, still with a slightly dazed expression in his eyes. “She says you’re stupid, but you’re fine, and free to go,” he translated. Victor turned and dropped a few galleons onto the counter, and Yuuri recognised the words for ‘thank you’, and ‘goodbye’.

Yuuri smiled at the apothecary, murmuring an apology for her trouble, and she waved a hand dismissively before disappearing back into the tea-scented darkness. Victor regained his protective hold on Yuuri's back, and guided him back outside into the cold air, which seemed too bright after the dim apothecary’s shop.

He turned to face Yuuri, and smiled, blue eyes glittering like ice in the afternoon's dim sunlight. Yuuri’s heart stuttered. “I’m glad you’re not hurt,” said Victor, his voice sincere. “The apothecary says you should have something hot to drink, to dispel the last of the shock. Would you permit me to accompany you? It’s my fault you’re in this position in the first place, after all.”

Yuuri blinked at Victor, whose heart-shaped smile was so bright and all-consumingly lovely that Yuuri felt as though he stood inches from the sun. “No, no really, that’s extremely kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly…” Yuuri began, trailing off into silence when he saw Victor’s face fall. It hurt. “Well…I mean, if you’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?” Yuuri quickly added, feeling like a monster for causing this lovely stranger’s smile to disappear even for a moment.

Victor brightened again, and indicated that Yuuri should follow him, walking towards a tall, narrow building at the end of the street. Its red brick walls were dusted with snow, and the windows glimmered with cheerful firelight in the weak sunshine. He held the door open for Yuuri, who stepped gratefully into the spice-scented warmth. It was clearly a bar of some kind, fairly empty at this time in the afternoon, but with the odd witch and wizard seated around the polished wooden tables, open newspapers in front of them and shopping bags piled around their feet. None of them looked up at the sound of the door opening, and Victor directed Yuuri to sit in an enormous green armchair by the window, whilst he went to the bar.

Yuuri sat and waited, looking over at this bizarre and beautiful stranger who had dropped into his life from the clear blue ( _well, grey_ , he mentally amended) sky. He was leaning over the bar, the polished brass reflecting small golden specks into his silver hair, his deep blue cloak accentuating how pale and flawless his skin was. Victor glanced over to where Yuuri sat, met his eyes, and smiled; Yuuri immediately felt himself flushing magenta, and hurriedly averted his gaze.  _Oh, gods,_  thought Yuuri, his eyes now focussed with burning intensity on his own knees,  _I’m just a Herbologist. A very boring, very ordinary Herbologist. And that man looks like he might actually be a god. Or a prince. Or at the very least an actual, live angel._

Yuuri was jolted out of his contemplation of his kneecaps by the sound of a glass being set down in front of him. Victor placed the cup of what smelled like spiced apple juice down on the table, and then settled himself in the armchair opposite Yuuri’s, his hair drooping elegantly across one eye.

“So, Yuuri Katsuki, who apparently doesn’t know that to stand directly in the apparition point is courting disaster, what brings you to Russia?” Victor asked, his smile warm enough to take any sting from his words.

Yuuri felt himself going, impossibly, redder. “I’m…a Herbologist,” he said, smiling slightly as though in apology for having such a career. “I’m here on an expedition to find some rare ingredients. Listen, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I wasn’t meant to-”

“Please,” said Victor, cutting off Yuuri’s apology with an elegant wave of his hand, “Think nothing of it. No harm done. And I would never have met you otherwise!”

Yuuri looked at him for a moment, unsure as to what Victor could possibly mean, and then dismissed it with a slight shake of his head. “So what are you searching for?” Victor continued, leaning forward slightly in his armchair.

“Snowfire flowers,” replied Yuuri, grateful for the familiar topic. “They’re very rare, and hard to find, and they can only be picked in the third week of December, so I’m planning an expedition to the Urals. Actually, I’m meant to be leaving tomorrow, but it looks like I might have to delay a few days to find some extra pieces of kit that I’m missing.”

Victor looked interested, and then noticed that Yuuri hadn’t touched his drink. “Please, drink,” he said, his accent making the incredibly prosaic sentence a masterpiece in its own right, Yuuri thought. Yuuri leaned forwards and picked up the warm glass, and sipped the hot drink; it was wonderful, and the sweet, spiced liquid chased the last of the dazedness from his mind. Yuuri smiled at Victor, his face finally unguarded, and Victor smiled dazzlingly back.

“What equipment is it you’re looking for?” Victor asked, once he saw that Yuuri had finished half of his glass.

“Oh, a new compass; mine broke yesterday when I was testing it. And some better snow boots, and possibly some charmed blankets; I thought what I had would be enough, but now that I’m here I think I may have underestimated the cold,” said Yuuri, sipping at the spiced apple. “Do you have any ideas as to what else I might need? I’ve never been to the Urals before, so…” Yuuri trailed off, having met Victor’s eyes again over the rim of his glass, and been temporarily robbed of the power of speech.

Victor launched into a detailed list of all the things that Yuuri might need, and some things Yuuri was sure he wouldn’t. Yuuri began to look a little lost, and Victor laughed, pulled a self-inking quill and some parchment out of his robes, and wrote down everything he was saying, adding to it periodically, while Yuuri admired his sloping writing. They discussed where Yuuri ought to go from the inn he was staying at, how long he ought to stay exposed on the mountains even with warming charms, and how best to keep animals away at night.

Finally looking at the clock, Victor grimaced, and Yuuri glanced at it too; they had been there nearly an hour. “Do you have to leave?” Yuuri asked, his heart sinking into his boots. “I’m sorry for keeping you here so long, I don’t know where my manners are…”

Victor sighed, and said “No, no, it was a pleasure. But I’m afraid I do have to go; I have a meeting that I categorically promised to be on time for, and it starts in a few minutes.”

Yuuri leapt to his feet, beginning to apologise again for keeping Victor so long, but Victor stood too and held out Yuuri’s cloak for him to shrug into. The feeling of Victor wrapping the warm fur around his shoulders prevented Yuuri from continuing his apologies.

“Let me walk you back to the apparition point,” Victor offered, “In case you decide to stand somewhere else that you shouldn’t!”

Yuuri smiled, and the two of them headed back up the already-dark street to where the Baba Yaga stood, her fingers still outstretched in a malevolent invitation.

“Thank you so much, Victor,” Yuuri said, turning to face him. “I’m so sorry for…well, thank you for the drink, and the advice. It was lovely to meet you.”

Victor smiled back, and extended a hand, which Yuuri took; his grasp was warm and firm, and made Yuuri’s heart thud audibly in his ears.

“Thank you, Yuuri, for breaking my fall,” Victor said with warmth in his voice. “Will you look me up when you get back from your expedition? I’d like to know you survived. Owl me, and I’ll send you a portkey.”

Yuuri stammered his agreement, too surprised by the offer to be more gracious, and then walked over to where the Baba Yaga was reaching for him.

“Goodbye, Victor,” he called, and Victor raised a hand in farewell; Yuuri reached for the fingers of the statue, and there was the same sensation of noise and distance, before he found himself back in the square, the statue now no more alive than the ice beneath his feet.

Yuuri stumbled back to the inn, and reached the blessedly warm safety of his room without incident. He fell backwards on to the bed, cushioned by his many layers, eyes open and heart pounding.

_That was…unexpected_ , he thought, and Victor’s smile seemed to swim in the air in front of his eyes, glittering in the soft light of the fire.

Yuuri felt lighter than air, and simultaneously heavier than lead, his body utterly alien to him. It wasn’t that he hadn’t ever met anyone attractive before, but Victor…

Yuuri felt in his pocket for his wand, and pulled it out, studying it in the firelight.  _Should he…? Was now the time?_

The fluttering of his heart increasing in speed, Yuuri lifted the wand in front of his eyes, and opened his mouth for the incantation that had never worked for him, the one that he was determined to one day master, the one that might, in this flood of strange emotions, finally work….

Yuuri let his hand drop to his side, and closed his mouth.  _No_ , he thought,  _not today_. He felt too happy to taint his mood with failure.

Yuuri sighed. He had several days in the freezing mountains to look forward to; not an appealing thought at the best of times. Now, however, with the prospect of seeing Victor at the end of the expedition, they seemed interminably long.

Yuuri’s stomach rumbled, and he rolled off the bed, stripping off most of his layers. He would eat in the inn that night, he decided, and then in the morning he would set off to buy the things that Victor had recommended.

With a sudden surge of panic, Yuuri felt for the parchment in his inner pocket, with a horrible feeling it might not be there; but there it was, the crackle of paper reassuring beneath his questing fingertips, tangible evidence that the entire experience had not been a fantastical dream.

Yuuri headed downstairs to find some food, smiling slightly.

 

 

Far away, Victor Nikiforov was still being shouted at by a short, stout man with a bald patch that appeared to be growing by the minute as he bellowed. Victor paid him no attention, as usual, letting the hair-raising threats of grievous bodily and spiritual harm wash over him like an insignificant breeze. While he waited for Yakov to finish shouting ( _honestly_ , Victor thought,  _for a director of finance, Yakov is terribly keen on wasting my valuable time_ ), he gazed wistfully out of the window.

_Yuuri Katsuki_ , he thought.  _Yuuri Katsuki_.  _Of course he is._  He remembered the tousled dark hair like an ink stain against the ice, the flushed cheeks, the dark eyes, the ungraceful sprawl of his limbs…and most of all, the immediate conviction that this was the man he was going to marry. Victor sighed, prompting another barrage of guttural rage from Yakov. Victor smiled, and let his mind drift again to Yuuri’s shy, kind smile, his passionate interest in his job, and the warmth of his hand when they had said goodbye…

Yakov eventually tired of shouting at him for being an hour late, shoved some horribly complicated paperwork under his nose which Victor took in at a glance, and kicked Victor out of his own office.

Victor strode down the high street, and reached for the fingers of the Baba Yaga statue, fixing his destination in his mind, and trying not to think about how Yuuri’s hand must have grasped this same statue just hours before; maybe some warmth from his fingers still lingered in the stone…

A moment later, Victor found himself standing at the edge of his estate. Still smiling at the remembered grip of Yuuri’s hand, and the feeling of his back, firm and solid under his fingers, Victor walked through the enormous curling ironwork gates as though they were as insubstantial as smoke, and disappeared from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor has arrived!  
> In case anyone was wondering, I chose the name 'Morevna' for the Russian wizarding capital because it's the name of a warrior queen in Russian folklore (I think, and so says google- please do let me know if I'm wrong!) and I am a big fan of warrior queens.  
> Also, I know this is a very, very fluffy fic, so please forgive me if I cause anyone any cavities- I've had a bit of a week, and writing fluff always helps!  
> Please comment/leave kudos if you enjoyed reading <3


	4. Corporeal

The morning light filtered through Yuuri’s closed eyelids, and his first semi-conscious thought was an inarticulate protest. He could feel his mind being pulled out of his dream by inches, and he groaned quietly, reluctant to leave the welcoming darkness.

He turned over slightly, trying to find his way back into sleep, and his side nudged the arm that was loosely wrapped around his waist.

Yuuri opened his eyes, vision slightly blurred without his glasses, and saw Victor’s sleeping face a few inches from his own, sharing the same pillow despite the enormous bed they were in. Even in sleep, he was heart-stoppingly beautiful; his silver hair, longer now than it had been when they had first met, was tangled and messy, his mouth half open, his deep and slow breathing the only sound in the sunlit bedroom.

Yuuri lay for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of Victor’s chest, before gently disengaging Victor’s arm from around his waist and rolling out of bed, the smooth wood of the floor cool against his bare feet.

Victor murmured a few incomprehensible words of protest, then rolled into the warm hollow left by Yuuri’s body and grew still again, his breath slowing into its regular rhythm. Yuuri retrieved his glasses from the bedside table, pocketed his wand, and padded softly to the door of the bedroom.

He paused for a moment to look back at Victor, whose form was framed by the billowing white canopy of their bed, his skin pale against the deep blue sheets. Yuuri saw the glitter of the ring on his left hand where it was flung out against the pillows, and smiled, his heart constricting with love as it always did when he saw it. He looked down at his own left hand, where his wedding ring sat, a constant reminder that this was really his life, that Victor was really his husband; Yuuri still couldn’t believe it, some days.

Tearing his eyes away from Victor’s sleeping face, Yuuri wandered down the high ceilinged hallway, past the highly polished wooden doors that led to the library and the dining room. The living room was bright with the autumn sun, and Yuuri shielded his eyes as he stepped through the doorway. The bleached wooden floors were slightly cold underfoot, and Yuuri could feel the gentle breeze from the partially open window playing over his sleep-warmed skin; it carried the scents of pine trees and wildness, scents that had become home.

Yuuri yawned, and wandered over to the kitchen, flicking his wand to summon a mug and conjure some boiling water into it, finally adding some of his favourite tea leaves. He dropped into the armchair by the bay window, which looked out over Victor’s estate- _our estate_ , he corrected himself.

Yuuri gazed out of the sunlit window, squinting slightly against the glare, his glasses slightly fogged as he sipped his tea. The sight of the rolling green forests, interspersed with the occasional lake or rocky outcrop, was as beautiful now as it had been when Yuuri had first set eyes on them.

Yuuri smiled, inhaling the steam that rose in soft spirals from his mug, and let his mind wander back to that frozen December night.

He had owled Victor as soon as he had arrived back at the inn, and within an hour had received a reply, containing a portkey and an invitation to dinner that evening at Victor’s house. Yuuri had been flustered, nervous, and delighted; he had picked up the portkey at one minute to seven, and after a brief blur of nauseating movement, had found himself at the gates of the most impossibly enormous stately home he had ever seen. Yuuri’s mouth had gone instantly drier than the Sahara, and he had considered apparating away again when it suddenly hit him why Victor’s name had seemed familiar.

Victor Nikiforov. The biggest name in potioneering for the last fifty years, a genius and a visionary, who had written several of the papers that Yuuri received on a monthly basis to keep up with the latest news in his field. Yuuri knew that he had made a fortune from patenting his recipes, and that he had given even more to charity; the name, combined with the offensively expensive-looking house ( _could you really call it a house_ , Yuuri had wondered in a slightly dazed way, _if it was bigger than Diagon Alley?_ ) left no doubt in his mind that the man who had sent him flying in the middle of the frozen Morevna high street was none other than _the_ Victor Nikiforov. But when Yuuri read his articles, he had always pictured a wizened old man with a hundred years of experience, not a man who looked as if he might have stepped straight from Olympus moments before.

Yuuri’s heart had raced, and he had felt the stirrings of blind panic, wondering what on earth Victor might want with someone like him, what could _he_ say to interest someone like _Victor?_ For an _entire evening_?

And then Victor, all warmth and welcome, had appeared at the gates, and Yuuri had forgotten all of his misgivings, all of his panic, in the simple reality of Victor’s heart-shaped smile.

They had had dinner, and they had talked, and they had laughed; and though neither of them could ever pinpoint exactly when it had happened, at some point or other in the evening it had become clear to both of them that here was their future, in the form of the man sitting opposite them at the table.

Smiling at the memory, Yuuri sipped his tea, which was still slightly too hot, and felt the tip of his tongue go numb. He laid his wand on the arm of the chair, and leaned back into the soft cushions, remembering his flat in London, where he had used to sit in the mornings, and how on one dark and rain-washed evening he had…

Yuuri sat up abruptly, spilling a few drops of hot tea on his hand. He ignored the mild burn, his mind suddenly utterly awake; _should I…?_ he thought, muscles locked and thoughts frozen with indecision, the now long-distant taste of failure only a bitter memory on his tongue.

Yuuri stood up, his wand held loosely in his hand, and faced the window, looking out over the sunlit forests. He felt the thick rug beneath his feet, the slight breeze from the open window gentle and fresh on his skin. The room was quiet, all sound hushed.

Expectant. Waiting.

_If not now,_ Yuuri thought, his palms sweating slightly, _then when?_

Yuuri closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, trying to recall the instructions that he had read on the yellowing pages of a decrepit textbook, in a dusty classroom, so many years ago. He remembered the galaxies of dust motes suspended in the air, their trajectories thrown rudely askew by his presence. He remembered the heavy Hogwarts robes, the distant chanting of spells, and the slant of sunlight through high arched windows. Yuuri smiled, his eyes still closed. _So long ago, now. A different world. A different me._

He raised his wand, the cherry wood smooth under his fingers, as warm in his hand as the day he had bought it. His wand, his faithful companion, that had summoned the summer; his wand, which had only ever failed him with one spell, on a moonlit night high above the wet London rooftops. Yuuri remembered the silver cloud flickering, changing, unbalanced _. I was unbalanced too_ , Yuuri realised, the thought dropping into his mind with the unmistakable ring of truth. _I wasn’t yet the person I was meant to be._

Yuuri inhaled, the steam from his tea mixing with the morning air in a heady cocktail, smelling of stillness, and of home. He opened his mouth to speak the words of the spell; there was a brief moment of silence, and he abruptly closed it again. _It still doesn’t…_

Yuuri frowned slightly. Something was wrong, something wasn’t yet in place, he could feel it.

He opened his eyes, the sunlight making him blink for a few moments. He looked around the peaceful living room, his eyes snagging on his favourite photo of Victor and himself from their wedding day; laughing together, their hands linked behind each other’s back, love radiating from their faces. _It still feels like that,_ Yuuri thought, _every day we spend together._

He looked down at his hand, and gazed at the ring on his fourth finger, the tangible evidence that Victor Nikiforov, the man who had fallen into his life as though fated to do so, really wanted him. Him, Yuuri Katsuki. Forever.

Yuuri felt certainty creep through his veins the longer he looked at the small golden circle which encompassed his entire existence.

Yuuri closed his eyes again, and when he breathed slowly in this time, it was a summer’s day under the pines he pictured, a golden ring that was a lifetime's promise, and a heart-shaped smile. Yuuri felt the rush of magic tingle in his fingertips, and raised the cherry wood wand into the brightly lit morning air.

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

From the tip of his wand, solid and shining and bright as the moon on a summer night, burst his patronus. Yuuri gazed at it in wonder, watching as it padded closer to him, deep-set eyes fixed on his, muzzle raised in inspection.

_It worked_ , he thought numbly. Yuuri reached out a shaking hand, his fingers trembling inches away from where his patronus stood.

The moment hung as though suspended in glass. The morning sun, the moonglow of the patronus, the steam from Yuuri’s rapidly cooling tea; all of it etched itself indelibly into Yuuri’s mind. The wolf standing before him watched silently, its eyes intent. Yuuri gazed back, and felt its calming glow as a soft greeting somewhere deep in his soul. _This moment,_ he thought, _is worth every failure and every tear I ever shed over this spell._

And then a soft sound broke the peaceful silence, and time and space resumed their course. Soft footsteps padded into the living room at Yuuri’s back. He didn’t turn around, unable to tear his eyes away from the shining form in front of him, its ears pricking forward at the new arrival.

Then Victor’s arms wrapped around Yuuri’s waist, and he leaned into the solid warmth at his back, fingers still outstretched towards his patronus.

“ _Lyubov moya_ ,” Victor murmured, his hair brushing against Yuuri’s face as he leaned forwards to kiss his cheek, his voice still rough with sleep. His lips brushed against Yuuri’s cheekbone, lingering for several seconds before Victor turned to gaze at the patronus that had padded forward to inspect him. He smiled into Yuuri’s hair.

Victor lifted one arm from around Yuuri’s waist, and raised his wand, murmuring “ _Expecto patronum_.”

His patronus burst forwards, shining just as brightly as Yuuri’s, and the two wolves circled each other for a few moments, one shining pure white and the other striped with darker silver. Then, all dignity forgotten, they began to gambol across the floor together, chasing and nipping, mouths open and silently panting in delight.

Yuuri and Victor watched, their breathing soft, marvelling at the sight.

Slowly, the wolves faded away in the early sunshine, dispersing on the bright air without a whisper of sound. But the air retained something of their glow; every colour seemed more intense, every sound more full of meaning.

Yuuri stood stock still, as he watched the last few whisps of silver disappearing. Victor’s hold around his waist was warm, and it felt like the only thing keeping him anchored to the floor; he felt light as a feather, as insubstantial as the breeze that still touched his skin through the open window.

“Are you alright, _solnyshko_?” Victor murmured against Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri leaned backwards into Victor’s chest, and tilted his head upwards so that he could brush their lips together. Victor hummed quietly in contentment, and ran his nose along Yuuri’s jawline, the movement comforting and familiar.

“Yes,” Yuuri said quietly, his voice soft and awestruck. “I’m alright. I’m wonderful.”

Victor smiled, his barely visible silver stubble casting a slight shadow across his face. “Yes, you are," he said, his voice sincere and rich as honey. He leaned forwards, dropped a soft kiss onto Yuuri's forehead, and then pulled back to peer at Yuuri's uplifted expression.

"Come back to bed,” he said, and took Yuuri by the hand, leading him back through the polished wooden hallway to the enormous white-canopied bedroom. Victor kicked the door shut behind them with reckless abandon, and Yuuri’s soft laughter was cut off as it slammed.

The rest of the house was silent, the high windows marking the journey of the sun as it began its daily path through the heavens. In the now-silent living room, the white curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze from the open window.

From many miles away, deep in the forests that surrounded Yuuri and Victor’s home, there came a high musical cry; it was taken up by other voices, the wolf-song spiralling upwards into the cold air, singing of the pack, of family, and of home.

Yuuri heard it from where he lay in Victor’s arms, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! A very short, very fluffy story. Just a note in case anyone was curious:
> 
> I chose a wolf for both Yuuri and Victor because I think they're both people that flourish when they're surrounded by the ones they love. In the actual series, Yuuri really came into his own once he found Victor, and Victor finally found a life beyond skating in Yuuri; I think that the sense of loyalty to the 'pack' is very important for them both. I gave them the same patronus because I love the idea of real 'soul mates' being represented that way, like Lily and James were with their stag and doe patronuses.  
> Plus, according to google, wolves mate for life, which I think suits them. But if anyone has any other ideas for what their patronuses could be, I'd love to hear them; it took me a long time to find one I was happy with!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed reading this- please leave kudos/a comment if you did, because it really helps motivate me to write.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


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